


You said you liked balloons.

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: A flimsy plot, Balloons!, F/M, Pining and Longing, Robin needs a wee, Robin playing the role of 'slutty secretary', Strike playing the role of a Jack the Lad, Traffic jam, a day at the races in different circumstances, a hastily located restaurant, keeping things professional, reason for Strike and Robin to get dressed up, the most ridiculous Valentine's Day themed menu, you can imagine the rest!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:29:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: I started writing this as a ridiculous attempt to get Robin and Cormoran involved in a case which required them to be dressed up and interacting with each other.The idea of the Valentine's Day meal came about during a text crazy spree between Lula and I.....once we started, the ideas for ridiculous menu choices just happened....and then the ending just seemed....well.....perfect really!
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 33
Kudos: 51





	1. A REALLY tenuous reason for Strike and Robin to spend a day at the races!

**Author's Note:**

> When 'Cameron Fletcher' is outside with the 'blond guy' and pulling a clearly sexual face I am imagining Bluey in Donkey Punch, when he is describing the donkey punch action......teeth grasping lower lip, snarling face and hips and hands leaving nothing to the imagination!!!!

Robin had been glancing across at her work colleague since he’d pulled up in the BMW to collect her earlier that morning.  
He certainly scrubbed up well, even though he was going to have to play the part of a bawdy ‘lad’ as part of his character for the day.  
His broad shoulders were always set off well in a suit jacket, and his newly acquired deep charcoal coloured wool three piece set off his firmer and fitter physique – the result of a greatly argued and bitterly endured Vegan-uary combined with a gym membership Christmas gift from Nick and Ilsa!  
He hadn’t as yet added the tie to his crisp white shirt, and his top couple of buttons remained open above the deep v of his waistcoat with its plum coloured, satin back panel, matching the lining of the rest of the suit .   
His beard was relatively tamed, as was his usually riotous hair.  
It was going to be a long day spent in his company…..there were certainly worse jobs!

Strike had been glancing across at his partner since she slid across the leather seat of the car an hour earlier.  
How he was going to control himself throughout the day was beyond him….she looked beautiful.  
Having to attend a race meeting at Brighton at the expense of their client in order to find some evidence of sexual impropriety was in many ways a great job….but when the race day coincided with Valentine’s Day….and he had to bring along a female guest to make his laddy and highly inappropriate character make sense…..well, it made for an interesting day full of opportunities for his equilibrium to give up the ghost completely.

She looked stunning.

Her glossy, honeycomb coloured hair was softly curled and hanging down her back and across her shoulders with just the top section held off her face in a single adornment which he longed to remove and allow the strands to cascade down.  
She was wearing a short, tightly fitted navy blue dress.   
It reminded him of the one she had worn when they’d attended the publishing event as part of the Quine case, but this one had a much lower neckline, revealing her sumptuous, plunging cleavage as well as long sleeves, which was more suitable to the late winter weather.

They’d discussed their characters: he was a ‘Jack-the-Lad’ type who therefore needed a suitably ‘flashy’ female on his arm.   
They had decided it would be simpler to pretend that they were not dating, rather that ‘Cameron Fletcher’ had brought her along with the sole purpose of pulling her, which would enable him to make lurid comments throughout the day and hopefully, sadly, enable him to fit in with the man who the client wanted to prove was being a sexual threat towards the females in the company.  
Robin had clearly taken her role as ‘slightly tarty’ side-kick to heart and her long, bare legs shimmered with some type of perfumed cream which he got tantalising wafts from whenever she adjusted her position.

She was playing Venetia Hawley and they’d already agreed that as the day went on he might be required to be a little inappropriate – groping her arse, making comments about her tits, maybe getting a bit close and predatory.  
Robin had nodded and seemed to have agreed with it all….although he had noticed a slight blush creeping up her neck as the discussion had progressed. But she was showing no signs of concern now and they were journeying happily along on the drive – he had agreed to drive them there, she was driving back as he’d have to drink throughout the day to play out his character properly.

As always they shared a mixture of pleasant silences and mainly job related easy chats; although they also turned the sound up on the radio in order to join in the pop master quiz on Radio 2 (between them getting highly respectable scores in both rounds due to Robin’s knowledge of Beyonce and Strike’s of Blue Oyster Cult!)

They arrived at the trackside box which had about 11 other people already in, one of which was their mark, another their client who greeted ‘Cameron’ warmly and shook hands with Venetia as she offered them both flutes of Champagne.   
Strike immediately clarified his character by claiming, “Get a few more of those down you, love, and you might earn yourself a promotion from the boss!” together with a hastily mouthed and only visible to Robin, “Sorry!”

The comment had the desired effect as almost instantly a blue suited man; handsome in the regular convention with a deep auburn flash of spiky styled hair, came over and thrust his hand into Strike’s and introduced himself as Roger Hardman.  
With a slightly smug expression Strike accepted his hand and the pair became engrossed in a what Cormoran usually termed ‘cock waving’ conversation.

Robin was able to drift across to a couple of other women who were dressed similarly to herself, one of whom sported the most enormous diamond engagement ring she’d ever seen.   
She deposited her partially drunk flute of fizz and located the bar where she requested tonic water with ice and lemon to resemble gin and tonic.

The races were a pleasing way of breaking up the day.   
Cormoran was doing a great job of appearing more drunk than he was – she’d noticed him drinking a couple of glasses of water throughout the day as well as the bottled lager which again he’d frequently left the last inch or so of in order to consume less.

On several occasions she felt his eyes on her across the room, and his hand had slipped around her waist several times.   
He’d loudly ‘fake slurred’ in her ear that he wanted to fuck her senseless/get inside her dress/knickers, and quietly whispered his desire to punch Roger Hardman’s lights out!

Strike had found the day taxing to say the least.   
On the one hand, having carte blanche to stare at Robin’s gloriously curvaceous body was bliss, but having to listen to repeated offensive to him (and any other sane human being) comments regarding her various abilities was getting more difficult.   
He was having to clench his fist and had actually started placing all his weight on his prosthetic in order to allow the pain to deflect his need to silence Roger’s revolting mouth.

The last race was about to start and Strike had managed to get what they needed: the disgraceful Hardman had sent him the upskirting images he’d managed to gather from the day – including a couple of Robin which were both vile and alarmingly erotic at the same time. However at least it meant their day had not been in vain; plus their success meant they wouldn’t have to spend any longer in the company of the odious Hardman.

He spotted Robin, or rather Venetia, across the room being assisted in reading the race card by one of the slightly less obnoxious men they’d encountered that day.   
He observed for a few moments, the guy was clearly flirting with her and staring unashamedly down her dress; although given the way she was standing and pouting at him he could hardly blame the man!

Flashing him a dazzling smile the slim blond guy trotted off to presumably place her bet, and Strike followed him to have a cigarette.   
On his way back through to the corporate box blond guy paused beside him and hissed as he glanced in Robin’s direction – she was in the process of bending over to pick up her small bag; the navy fabric of her dress stretching across her amazing arse.

“Jesus! I could damage that! How the fuck do you get any work done with secretaries like that at your beck and call?” the slim guy asked, earning him an instant 5 point drop in Strike’s estimation of his character.  
Strike instantly turned himself back into Cameron Fletcher, “Eye’s off….she’s mine….at least she is for tonight……notoriously choosy……and apparently hasn’t had a decent fuck in months according to the girlie office gossip!” he waggled his eyebrows and licked his lips lasciviously before drawing the smoke from his cigarette deeply into his lungs to calm the frustration he felt inside – making such comments about any woman was abhorrent to him, but about Robin it was…..fuck it was sexy!   
He hated himself as the world’s worst example of misogyny!

Robin glanced out and saw Cormoran flick back into Cameron mode as the blond guy, Damian, approached him and shared a ‘witty comment’ which was clearly based on something derogatory towards women based on the action he made with his hands, hips and lips clenched in his teeth. [*this is that Bluey moment mentioned in the note!*]  
Robin stifled her whimper.  
She chastised herself for being the world’s worst feminist….but fucking hell….he was a sexy arsed bastard!

Back outside, ‘Cameron’ was taking the final couple of drags on his cigarette, Blond Guy (why on earth would Strike learn his name?) was asking whether he, Cameron, was serious about Venetia being off limits as he fancied ‘seeing if she’d be up for a quick blow job in the gents’.   
Strike took out his inner anger on the filter of his cigarette beneath his brogued heel before answering that, “I’m making my move, so tough! She knows which side her bread is buttered and I think keeping in the boss man’s good books is definitely higher on her priorities!” and he clicked his tongue in her cheek before making his way back into the trackside box and sidling himself behind Robin’s body.  
He slipped his large hands across her hips and gave a lascivious glance in the direction of Damian as he ground his hips against her backside – thankfully the sight of the guys’ ugly, tongue-lolling face had the necessary effect on him to ensure his body stayed under control.

Robin gave a slight gasp at his proximity, but assumed her ‘Venetia’ role and glanced over her shoulder, offering an alluring smile at her ‘boss’.  
Strike nuzzled his mouth into the silken haven of her hair, momentarily forgetting his purpose.   
Clearing his throat he softly whispered into her ear, “I’ve got what we need and I’ve just told Blond Guy over there that I’m making a move on pulling you, so we can get out of here. Oh…sorry about this,” and he slid his splayed palms around to slide up her firm torso, briefly cupping her breasts before returning abruptly to his ‘Cameron’ persona and adopting a purse lipped snarl.

Robin gasped and tried to control her breathing at the feeling of desire his touch brought.  
Venetia pouted and forced herself to flash a mesmeric smile in his direction, “But I’ve got a bet on this race….can’t you be patient?” and seeing Roger Hardman directly behind them added, “I’ll make it worth your while later on, Sir!”

Strike heard Hardman’s throaty growl and felt the swaggering punch to his shoulder through the fabric of his jacket.   
He mentally reminded himself that he had only another 30 minutes maximum to endure….and he’d already worked out which car belonged to Twattface Hardman, so he’d make sure the man was suitably ‘rewarded’ for his vileness.

The bell sounded for starter’s orders and Robin’s eyes narrowed to spot the stalls on the far side of the course.   
It was a relatively short sprint, all of the horses had shown as lithe and gloriously glossy coated in the ring.   
Her own choice of horse number 3, called Dark Warrior, got a good start and was nicely poised as the charging beasts rounded the top bend.   
Everyone was shouting, as they had been throughout the day, racecards were waved, in front of him Venetia was looking remarkably Robin-like as she jumped up and down.

She felt her stiletto heel grind back onto what she assumed was Strike’s foot and was brought back to the reality of life rather than the excitement of the race before she glanced down and realised it was his right shoe she’d found.   
He followed her gaze and smirked at her amused expression, their eyes lingered for a fraction of a second longer than was necessary before he pulled his attention back to the horse race which was becoming more exciting as they neared the final couple of furlongs.

Robin quickly gathered herself together and noticed with relish that her horse was in second place and looked determined to improve his position.  
She leaned forwards against the metal rail and shouted for the jockey to “give him more rein, go on” oblivious to the fact that in doing so she had pushed her bottom firmly against Cormoran’s hips and was now jumping up and down slightly causing all manner of highly inappropriate thoughts to cross Strike’s mind, especially when combined with the enthusiastic shouting of those around him to “Go on!”, “Ride it!”, “Keep going!”, “Faster….faster!”

As Strike bit his lip and tried to imagine crime scene photos the horses swooped past the finish line with Dark Warrior a clear winner.

Robin twirled around infront of him and momentarily forgot about their combined characters as she flung her arms around Cormoran’s neck and hugged him, squealing in delight about her win.  
Strike’s hands slid around her waist and gloried in the feeling of her hot breathlessness on his neck and the subtle scent of cherry and vanilla from her hair flooding his senses.  
Catching a quick glimpse of Blond Guy in his peripheral vision he quickly reassumed his Cameron persona and deftly grasped his palms beneath her backside, lifting her from the floor and bringing her face to face with his dark, mesmeric gaze.

“I won!” she grinned, and to his smug astonishment wriggled her backside in his hands a little before arching her eyebrows and stating loudly, “Shall we go?”  
Cormoran/Cameron nodded and smirked wolfishly at her.

“Do you wanna collect what’s due to you…before you get what’s properly due to you?” he asked giving a leering snarl and glancing over at Blond Guy, “Be a good lad and go and get her winnings will ya,” and he gave the same tongue in cheek click and wink before hoisting Robin’s wriggling body higher in his grasp, making a triumphant shout of “Get in there Dark Warrior!!!”

After a victory lap of the small corporate box he eventually, and somewhat reluctantly released Robin, not before a few glances up at the languid curve of her body and alluring ‘Venetia Hawley’ pouts down at him.  
As she retrieved her bag and scarf Strike, or rather Cameron, made a big deal of going to the gents and loudly making use of the wall mounted condom machine whilst Damian handed over the £70 winnings to Venetia by attempting to slot the roll of notes down the front of her dress.  
“Oi! I think that’s my job!” Strike shouted across managing to save Robin the indignity of the unwanted attention as he swiped the notes from Damian’s grasp, “You can earn this later, Babe!”  
Robin forced her face to remain placid, despite wanting to kiss her work partner in gratitude and simultaneously retch at Damian’s vile behaviour.  
“Come on you!” and with the previously agreed resounding slap to her backside he was steering Robin towards the car park.

They kept up the pretence of being slightly tipsy and flirty until they were out of sight; Strike’s arm draped across Robin’s shoulders and hers hitched into the back pocket of his suit trousers, casually grazing what she found to be a rather muscular and firm buttock.

“Right!” Cormoran snapped back to normality as he sniffed and rather abruptly removed his arm, and therefore Robin’s hand from his body. “Shall we bung this in petty cash?” he asked, waggling the £70 winnings between his fingers as he rummaged for his fags and lighter, not before detouring via a small, black sport’s car which he proceeded to stab the rear tyres of using the penknife he carried. Hardman! Twat!

Robin shook away her previous thoughts and sighed a little; playing floozy to Strike’s laddish attentions had been quite fun for a day….although of course that type of inappropriate male attitude towards women was deplorable…….she despised herself for having found it at all sexy….and for having enjoyed watching the effect her cleavage could have on the assembled men – Strike too she’d noticed on a couple of occasions (and felt, rather memorably, once!)

“It’ll pay for a month’s supply of Hobnobs for the office!” she grinned, quickly restoring the normality of their working relationship and long established friendship before grabbing the waggling car keys from his fingers.


	2. I feel like I'm in Barbara Cartland's boudoir!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Corm start making their way back to London and get stuck in a non-moving traffic jam....which means they have to come up with a hasty change of plans once they are free again and discover Robin is desperate for a pee.  
> Strike's 'last minute choice' of restaurant has a Valentine's themed menu....and enthusiastic waiters.

“You sure you’re OK to drive back?” he asked, rasping his palm across his beard and suddenly feeling the effects of his alcohol consumption throughout the day.  
It was 4.30pm and he’d drunk on and off for the past three and a half hours and although it was ‘cat’s piss weak’ lager, and he’d left the bottom inch or so in each bottle claiming it had gone warm, but he still reckoned he had put away about 4 or 5 pints’ worth.

“I’m fine. Anyway, you can tell me about what we’ve got. I take it you got enough to close it?” she stated, getting into the driver’s side and rather inelegantly, but effectively, dragging the seat forwards and up so that she could get close enough to the wheel to drive.

So the first part of the journey comprised Strike describing the rough gist of the images Hardman had sent him from the day - a mixture of up the skirt and down the dress images, all of which had been taken without permission or knowledge by the female concerned.

When stopped at a set of lengthy traffic lights Robin had swiped through the selection on his phone, gasping on recognising one of herself which had been taken over her shoulder as she reached into her bag.   
The cleavage she’d been showing via her dress was also accompanied by a flash of her navy bra, her breast falling forwards softly against the fabric and the tiniest section of her darkened nipple was also visible due to the angle.   
The second she recognised as being angled almost between her legs as she sat on one of the outside benches talking to the massive diamond ring girl (Cassidee); her pale thighs and a ‘v’ of intricate, navy lace was visible….and she bet if you zoomed in you’d be able to make out her blonde pubes under the lace.

“Like I said, easily enough to close the case….we don’t have to use those ones,” Strike stated, apologetically as he palmed the phone from her and brought the first image back up, hovering with his finger over the delete option, “Shall I get rid of them?”  
Robin however put the car into drive as the lights changed and shook her head.   
The determined set of her lips was one he recognised now and knew better than to argue, “No….he’s a tosser, and those two pictures help the case, especially as I know specifically I didn’t give permission….if nobody else is willing to say anything against him at least I can.”

Strike nodded, “Fair enough.”

An hour later they had made great progress up the motorway, but were currently stuck in non-moving traffic.

“Have you noticed there’s nothing coming from the other direction? Not a single vehicle for the past 20 minutes,” Robin observed.  
Strike had joined others in vacating their vehicles in order to look down the 3 lane motorway and assess what could be taking place.  
He ducked his head through the open passenger door, exhaling cigarette smoke through the side of his mouth to avoid getting the majority in the vehicle.

“I know….I’m looking on local news sites, see if there is anything…..you got a signal? Try the motorway traffic update line…..might be some details.” And he went back to resting his buttocks against the bonnet of the car, scrolling on his phone, his face illuminated in the early evening gloom.  
Robin picked up her own phone, it was low on charge and she didn’t have her adaptor with her, but she looked up the traffic information and made a sigh as she read the details.

“Hey….it says ‘Concern for person on a bridge’,” Robin shouted through the window on her side.   
Cormoran nodded and waggled his own phone as he got back into the car.

“Yep, I’ve got the same. Sounds like some poor sod threatening to jump. In many ways let’s hope we’re stuck for a while so they can talk ‘em down!” he stated, earning a sympathetic nod and gaze from Robin.

The news seemed to filter along the trapped vehicles.   
Their own sympathetic feelings were not shared by all, and Robin noted with frustration barely concealed that there were already several vile comments along the lines of ‘Get on with it and jump so we can get moving’ on the news threads.

“How can people be so heartless!” Robin stated, shaking her head at the small screen in her palm.  
Beside her Strike inhaled slowly.   
He toyed with the idea of covering her small hand with his own to show solidarity and understanding.  
Instead he opened the door and announced his need to piss before limping slightly across to the siding which had already been utilised by numerous men and desperate parents with their small children.

Robin initially followed his large figure; the suit really did look good on him….all broad shoulders and nipped in waist.  
She watched as his shoulders hunched slightly; aware that he would be ‘in full flow’ so to speak.   
She mulled on the fact that it was a while since she’d overheard a male peeing.   
Having ended things with Matthew over a year ago, and having only dated a couple of guys; neither of which had gone anywhere, although she had slept with Liam, she’d had no call to listen in on a masculine piss from a height.  
She giggled slightly as she imagined that Cormoran’s height would add a couple of decibels to the whole experience!

She realised she was still staring absently at her partner as he finished, turned and cast an amused smirk at her flustered head as it turned towards the steering column.  
She covered her embarrassment by rifling through the glove box for the alcohol hand gel they kept there and passed it wordlessly to him.  
He slathered the liquid on and cleared his throat, unfastening the buttons on his waistcoat before sliding into the butter-soft leather seat.

“Right, I’m thinking we could either have the world’s most boring game of I Spy, orrrrr…...,” and he waggled his phone in her direction.

Robin tutted and rolled her eyes, “I’m not going up against you in that bloody word game again….you know too many weird words!” she exploded, but with mirth behind her twinkling eyes.

“Fine,” he mock snubbed, “I’ll play by myself and narrate the whole thing outloud!” and he swiped at the screen, his lower lip jutting with a side eyes glance towards her.

“Bloody hell…..OK, BUT,” and she raised her finger towards his crinkle-eyed grinning face, “NO Latin words…… and nothing that only military people would understand!” she added, remembering their last game of Strike’s favourite stake-out APP.

He pouted and looked slightly like a naughty schoolboy, but grudgingly accepted her stipulations.

A further 40 minutes passed.

Engines had long since been turned off, some children had started playing a game of football on the opposite carriageway, which had made Robin comment on how stupid it was of the parents to allow it; what if the road was reopened in that direction first!  
Strike had grumbled about being starving (to be fair she’d expected it long ago!) and having found nothing stashed in the car had resorted to Robin’s handbag which she’d told him might contain something.  
He rummaged his large hands around, feeling it was quite intimate to be caressing his fingers against her lipstick, house keys and spare tampon before locating the only option.

“A fucking seed bar!” he grumbled, regarding the cardboard wrapped object which proclaimed to be a Lemon Drizzle flavoured wholesome seeds and nut bar.

Robin arched her brow at him, “It’s all there is until we start moving again!” she stated primly, “And the latest update is saying no change in the situation but services are on the scene to assist.”  
Cormoran glowered at Robin and then at the bar before tearing open the wrapping and taking a bite….and chewing…..and chewing…and flicking his tongue around the insides of his mouth….and chewing some more.

“Bloody, tasteless, bird food rubbish,” he grumbled as he chewed, causing Robin to snigger. “I’d rather eat the fucking cardboard!” he retorted, but smirked before finishing the rest of the bar with his second bite after offering her the option.

Fifteen minutes later there appeared to be some sort of Mexican Wave of activity.   
Robin checked her phone again and gave a small whoop.

“Situation resolved satisfactorily,” she announced before pulling the seat she’d slid back for comfort back into her driving position and wincing slightly.

“You OK?” Strike asked as he extinguished his latest cigarette before slipping back into the vehicle.

“Need a wee….and before you suggest it, no! I’m not using the verge!” she quipped.

“Fair enough…..let’s have a look then,” and he took out his phone tapping in a search for eating places locally. “That grit bar thing has not even touched the sides, so I say we get off at the next junction, avoid the services which’ll be rammed and find somewhere to eat…and for you to pee.”

It was a good plan.  
Tail lights were flicking on further ahead and after a further 5 minutes or so they were finally moving.

“Got something; next junction is 10 miles away, and there’s a place that has a table available at 7.15, which I have just……..booked!” he stated as he tapped at his screen.

The motorway was clear ahead of them and the knowledge that sanctuary was close by made it easier to ignore the throb from her swollen bladder as she pushed the car to hit 80.  
Strike never minded being driven by her, even when she was in ‘demented I need a wee’ mode.   
Just after 7 he indicated where the restaurant was and she pulled into one of only a few available car parking spaces.  
He had long since removed his tie, but rebuttoned his waistcoat and jacket as he walked behind Robin, noticing her slightly faster than usual trot on her spiky, and incredibly sexy heels which brought her very close to his height.

“You get the table, I’ll find the loo!” she instructed as he held the door open for her and nodded with a quick, “’kay,” tossed towards her back as she spotted the ladies toilets close to the entrance.

There was a massive display of pink, red and silver balloons which threatened to take over the small space where guests needed to ‘Wait for a member of staff to seat you.”  
Thankfully a middle aged woman, wearing a pair of marabou feathered boppers in the shape of red, glittery hearts came across swiftly.  
Strike cleared his throat and was actually grateful that Robin wasn’t with him, he didn’t think he’d have been able to stifle his laughter at the woman’s overall image if she’d caught his eye!

“I booked online, just a short while ago. Table for 2, name of Strike,” he stated in his deep, rumbling voice.

“Of course, erm…..someone joining you?” the female waitress looked expectantly at him.

“Yep….just powdering her nose,” he answered, indicating the door Robin had darted rapidly and gratefully behind.

“Right, lovely,” the waitress had one of those sing-songy voices that made Strike think of tannoy announcers in supermarkets, “Do you want to wait…or….”

“No, she’ll find me,” Strike stated absently and did a slight double take at the odd expression which crossed the waitress’ face.   
Nevertheless she led him across to a booth style table, having selected a couple of menus and additional items from the kiosk. 

The table itself was festooned with hearts and all manner of pink, red and white drapery.   
At one place setting she positioned a single red rose and at the other a small gold box, which looked rather reminiscent of ones that are placed in fancier hotels as a welcome gift.  
“There you are then, these are part of the menu for this evening,” she indicated the items and turned, “Scott will be over shortly. Would you like a drink?”

Strike was momentarily dumbstruck by the amount of Valentine’s crap, but managed to ask for a pint for himself and a small glass of white wine for Robin – she could definitely have one and still be OK to drive.

Robin was slightly surprised by the broad grin and thumbs up from one of the waitresses as she wandered through the sea of balloons and Valentine’s Day trimmings.  
She naturally spotted Strike and gave a small sigh at how quite ridiculously handsome and slightly ruffled he looked; she then quickly gave a barely stifled giggle as he battled with a bee shaped helium balloon which appeared to be attached to a rail behind his seat and which bore the message of ‘Bee mine!’

“Where the hell are we? Is this place sponsored by Pepto Bismol?” she asked as she removed her scarf and slid into the booth opposite Cormoran.

“I didn’t check the ratings or reviews of the place….I was mainly focussed on whether you’d be able to reach it without wetting yourself….so, be thankful!” and he grinned, glancing around and noting that every other table in the place was filled with couples. “I feel like I’m in Barbara Cartland’s boudoir……and not in a good way!” he winced.

Robin flashed a perturbed face at him, “What do you mean not in a good way? Are there ANY ways were the thought of Barbara Cartland’s bedroom turns you on?” and she giggled as his brow knotted and he fake retched.  
“Personally I’m disappointed they didn’t go the extra mile and have pink loo roll!” she murmured, “Was that waitress back there wearing deely boppers?”

He nodded seriously back, “She was, but thankfully there is someone else waiting on us….I don’t think I could keep a straight face if we had her all night!”###

At this point a very slender young man with incredibly interesting facial hair bounded up with a pint of beer and a glass of wine and announced his arrival with a cheery, high pitched “Hiyaaaa.”  
Strike wrinkled his nose and gripped his own knee as he saw Robin suck in her cheeks to stop herself giggling.

“Right….so I’m Scotty, yeah? And I’m like….your waiter tonight on this romantic evenin’….sooooo…..like, if there’s anythin’ you need, you just ask for me, ‘kay?” and he smiled expectantly, clearly requiring a response.  
Robin managed a raise browed nod, Strike somehow made his mouth form the phrase, “Thanks Scott, great.”

“So the menu is like….all themed….so I’ll leave you to have a look…..and then I’ll pop right back….’kay?”

“Perfect” Robin managed to respond as she could feel Strike’s knee tapping to distract him from laughing.

Once they were alone, both managed to cover their faces and continue their stammered and somewhat pained conversation:  
“Just don’t laugh or I’ll go!”

“Please tell me this isn’t a dream?”

“Just shut up…..this isn’t funny!”

“It’s hilarious!”

“Oh God….I’ll need to wee again….stop laughing….just stop now!”

“Christ!”

“Oh good God!”

The final statements coincided with them actually being able to focus on the menus and reading their food choices…..they also managed to make eye contact above their cardboard partitions.  
Robin was just shaking her head, Cormoran looked hilariously baffled.

“Have we entered some weird, alternative universe where nothing makes sense? Or have I overdone the lager and painkillers again?” he asked, deadpan.

Robin pouted and softly shook her head, “I won’t be able to ask for any of this without laughing.”

“I’m beginning to wish we had Deely Boppers Woman waiting on us….at least then I could focus on those as a distraction!” he whinged.

“Focus on Scott’s beard……well, his sort of beard, thingy,” she stated, screwing up her face and trying to indicate on herself the complex collection of Scott’s facial hair with her finger.  
Strike arched his brow and picked up his pint, downing a hefty swig before belatedly raising a toast, “Here’s to us getting through this without being thrown out!”

Robin sniggered but tapped her glass to his and took a sip from it, “I’ve got to do it all relatively sober too!”

“Trust me, I’ve sobered up pretty quickly, Ellacott!” he shook his head and downed the next quarter of his pint in a second mammoth gulp.

Robin composed herself and returned to the menu choices forcing herself not to laugh at the options.  
“OK….we can do this…..we can order from a menu,” she stated, inhaling deeply and twisting her neck as she glanced at the choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter which I will post tomorrow is nothing short of ridiculous.......Lula and I laughed so hard once the ideas for the menu choice meals started coming thick and fast!


	3. An erotically good chocolate brownie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the stupidity commence!  
> Robin and Corm order from a patently ridiculous menu choice.  
> Robin drops her phone and the waiters assume something else has taken place when Cormoran kneels to pick it up.  
> He gives her balloons.  
> Robin takes an executive decision.

Strike made inadvertent eye contact with Scotty who bounded across with his pad and pen poised, Robin noted that there was a glittery pompom attached to the end of the writing implement which threatened to make her loose the composure she had battled with, especially when Strike followed her gaze and she heard his muffled whimper.

“Okey dokey folks…..what can I bring you from our three course special Valentine’s menu?”

Robin cleared her throat and went first, “I’ll have the Eternal Flame grilled peppers with the Stand by your Flan to start followed by Salmon-chanted Evening, please……with a side order of Look into my Fries!”  
Scott’s pompom wobbled and jumped around as he scribbled furiously.   
He gave her a wrinkle nosed grin of delight, which she found herself copying back to him, much to Strike’s further amusement.

“Lov-leeee. OK, what can I get for you,” and he turned and gave his full, rapt attention to Cormoran.

“I’ll have the soup,” he began, but was interrupted.

“….you mean The Lady in Red Lentil broth?” Scott cut in, almost teasing the burly hunk of masculinity into joining in the ‘fun’.

“No…..I mean the soup! And then I’ll have the pie,” he continued.

Scott was nothing if not persistent, “I take it that’s the Don’t Go Steaking my Heart pie? And would you like the Hunk-a-Hunk-a Garlic bread to go with that?” Scott sing-songed, seemingly oblivious to the almost snarling glare from Strike…..maybe he just thought it was his attempt at a smoulder!

Strike averted his gaze from Robin’s mischievous, direct stare and summoned from his deep cover training experience as he calmly answered, “Actually I’d like the Build me up Butternut to go with it please….and another of these,” indicating his rapidly dwindling pint.

“Fab-u-lous folks! I’ll buzz this order through and I’ll pop back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail with a top up for you!” and the young guy flashed a cheeky wink towards Strike as he departed.

Robin released the breath she had been holding in as a guffaw, “I think you’ve pulled!” she hissed, sipping her wine as her partner shook his head and grinned one of his green-eyed, crinkle-cornered specials directly at her.

“I’ll play hard to get!” he twinkled giving a waggle of his eyebrows and leaning back languidly against the back of the booth, although the bloody Bee Mine balloon kept making its presence felt by boinging off his head; even a hard stare had no effect, so he swore lightly before turning and snapping the ribbon attaching it making it float up to the ceiling.  
Robin cast him an open mouthed, admonishing glare….shit, he’d have to try and do something about the effect that seemed to have on him these days.

“Poor balloon! I like balloons!” she added softly,

“I’ll get it down before we go,” he murmured, enjoying that she gave him a nose wrinkling grunt of approval before Scotty bounded back with the fresh pint.  
He nudged the rose, which was placed directly infront of Strike as he put it on the table and after he left Robin seemed to notice the additional table accoutrements.  
She picked up the small, gold box with it’s red ribbon and gift tag bearing the phrase, ‘Be My Valentine’ and smiled smugly before glancing slightly perplexed across at Strike’s table setting.

“Are these not the wrong way round? Shouldn’t I have the rose?” she asked.

Strike affected an expression of mock disgruntlement, “That’s a bit gender role specific isn’t it? Why can’t I have the rose? I’m in tune enough with my femininity to appreciate the natural, unaffected beauty of a single rose!”

Robin stared at him, momentarily focussing on his uneven lips and wondering, not for the first time, what they might feel like pressing against hers.

“OK…..so you’re saying you wouldn’t prefer the choccies?” she stated, bringing the box up to her heart in a possessive motion.

Strike pouted slightly, “Well obviously I’d prefer the chocolate….but I think we both know that if you are driving the car later you have no chance of getting any of them anyway!” and he drained his first pint, taking a sip from the fresh one before he continued, toying slightly with the condensation on the glass as he spoke, “And I think the idea is that I’m supposed to present you with this,” he lifted the long stemmed red rose, “And you’re supposed to do the same with those to me!”

“Well go on then!” Robin dared him.

“Ellacott….for you,” and he handed the rose across the table into Robin’s fingers, “You go to the most amazing lengths to help put bastard twatface men like Hardman away….even on Valentine’s Day…..and I’m proud to be doing it all beside you!”

Robin was touched.   
Despite their close working relationship Strike didn’t often wax lyrical about her work.   
He often gave her a ‘Well bloody done!’ or a passing slap on the shoulder, and after that one case she’d helped them solve properly he’d even given her a lopsided, one armed hug.

“Well, in that case you’d better have these……and for future reference I’d quite like the arse grabbing lift and victory circuit to become part of office life to celebrate successes,” and before she gave away too much she added, “And that goes for when Barclay and Hutchins do something good too!”  
He’d been lost for a brief, blissful, tortuous moment when she’d started her statement…..the memory of her gloriously firm, rounded backside beneath his splayed palms was making him giddy; and the thought that maybe she’d enjoyed it too had filled him with….what was it? ……hope?

“Gimme the damn chocolates, woman!” he smirked, wolfishly.

Unbeknown to both Strike and Robin they had become a focus for Scott and Deely Bopper who had been observing and making predictions since the couple had walked in.  
“He’s definitely gonna propose…..just look at the way he’s looking at her!”

“Oh….my….God! I mean, like….total heart eyes when he handed over that rose! Fuuuuuuck!”

“She’ll say yeah too. She can hardly keep her eyes off him, and she’s fiddling with her hair!”

“That hair!!!!! Jesus, it’s like melted caramel…..I would literally, like…..die for hair like that!”  
They were distracted from their conversation by the rude interruption of the service bell; Robin and Strike’s starters were ready.

“Here we go! Eternal Flame grilled peppers with spiced, Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot couscous and The Lady in Red Lentil broth with special cheesy crouton……enjoy,” this time Scotty flashed his departing wink towards Robin.

“I think he’s moved on from me!” Strike grinned before tutting and shaking his head at his meal.

Robin smiled down at the pretty array of red and orange peppers and the pinky flecked couscous which had clearly been moulded into a heart shaped cutter. She noticed the pout to Cormoran’s face. “What’s up? Yours is just soup….what can be wrong with soup?”

He moodily kept his eyes on the table, “You’re special.”

“I beg your pardon?” Robin queried, wondering whether she’d heard him correctly.   
His previous display of affection was one thing, when related to work, but this was definitely a curveball!  
He lifted up and displayed the large crouton towards her, which although deliciously gooey and melty looking had the phrase he’d uttered almost embossed into it with what looked like a heated iron ‘brand’.  
She fell fractionally from the cloud she’d been hovering close to, but also fell with a little more certainty into the way she felt about the dark, bear of a man opposite her.

“Just dunk it…..or bite it,” she suggested, scooping up a forkful of her own food and groaning with enjoyment.  
Despite the unfortunate name of the dish, the actual soup was delicious and when their plates were cleared there was very little left to wash!

Cormoran used the break between courses to visit the loo, and have a cigarette outside while Robin checked a few emails and personal messages from Ilsa, her mum and one of her netball friends, Neela.  
Neela was good naturedly wanting to know whether she had indeed managed to make Strike’s eyes pop out of his head with her choice of dress – they’d spent several tipsy evenings in Robin’s flat trying on outfits before deciding on her selection, which was one of Neela’s dresses.  
She toyed with the idea of winding her up by taking a picture of the rose and adding a truthful, but maybe a little exaggerated message that it had been presented to her by Cormoran….but instead she took a picture of the menu and added a more amusing comment about pissing herself laughing with Strike as they have some food on the way home.  
She did however take a quick snap of her rose…..just for her own memories.

Returning to the table Strike had the unmistakably comforting aroma of warm man, ale and tobacco and he asked whether Robin wanted a further drink before wandering across to the bar to add a further pint of beer and a glass of tonic water to their bill.  
He brought the drinks back himself just as their main meals arrived.

Scott gave him a tutting pout, “I’d have done thaaaat!” he stated, “So here’s the Don’t go Steaking my heart plus the Build me up Butternut for you, and the Salmon-chanted Evening with some Look into my Fries….and I brought you a portion of the Hunk-a-Hunk-a Garlic bread because…..well…,” and he gestured vaguely in Strike’s direction who was naturally oblivious to the waiter’s implied meaning as he swiped one of Robin’s chips and swore coarsely at discovering how hot it was!

“Bloody hell!” Strike grumbled as he again peered down at his plate.

“Oh what now! You ordered a pie….what the hell can they have done to a pie? Have they stamped Sex God into it or something?” she giggled, although she took a large gulp of her chilled drink…..had she just inadvertently implied that she thought of Strike as a Sex God?  
Strike however appeared not to have noticed her comment and was shaking his head gloomily, knife and fork primed ready for attack.

“I assumed a pie would be safe…..but look!”

He tilted his plate towards Robin to display a dinky pink heart shaped casserole dish which contained an individual steak pie, the top crust of which was festooned with pastry love hearts.  
Robin’s mouth made an automatic ‘awwww’ shape and sound, “It’s lovely! Don’t spoil it!” but he’d already broken through the crust.

His chagrin didn’t last however as the centre contained an almost orgasmic (well, to Strike at least!) combination of tender steak, rich gravy, onions and mushrooms. And the roasted butternut squash was a perfect accompaniment, especially when combined with a forkful of Robin’s chips.

Robin’s salmon was apparently delicious too and they enjoyed their meals in a mixture of pleasing silences and natural chat about the following week’s diary.  
Strike offered a forkful of the squash across to Robin and she pronounced it yummy, and she fed him a mouthful of her salmon, enjoying how his lips engulfed the fork as his eyes briefly met hers before drawing back and pressing his napkin to staunch the excess sauce from his top lip.  
Main course over it was Deely Bopper who cleared the table and returned with a menu board for dessert.

“They’re all sharing desserts this evening,” she explained leaving the small chalkboard resting on the edge of the table, careful not to crush Robin’s rose.  
Robin swiftly turned the board away from Strike an impish glint in her eye, “OK, based on the ridiculous themes from this menu give me a guess as to what’s on here!”

Strike laughed outloud and rested his elbows on the edge of the table, his thumbs stroking his beard as he gave a deeply guttural ‘hmmmmmmm’.  
“You look then and I’ll try and read your mind!”

Robin glanced down and focussed on the board.   
When she looked back up at him she saw a totally unhidden look of longing and desire for a fraction of a second until he composed himself.  
“I’m thinking about it really hard,” she said.

He nodded and narrowed his eyes, “Let’s see, something like Unchained Melon-y something….and if that’s there we’re not sharing fruit bloody salad! Fruit NEVER counts as pudding!”

She sniggered, “There is a fruit thing but obviously they’ve gone with a passion fruit theme….Passionfruit Kisses….but, I’m gonna put you out of your misery, because there is only one winner on the list,” and she looked up, catching the eye of the ever attentive Scotty.

“What can I get yer?”

“We’ll have Islands in the Cream please,” Robin announced and regarded Cormoran’s partially appalled, partially impressed expression.

“Dare I ask?”

“Two chocolate brownies swimming in ice cream, creme anglaise and covered in all manner of no doubt Valentine inspired sugar sprinkles,” she explained.

“Marvellous!....I’m off for a fag!” Strike announced, wriggling himself slightly to free himself from the booth, checking his pockets out of habit for his cigarettes.

Over at the cutlery point Deely Bopper and Scott were huddled in conversation.  
“I swear….that’s why he’s checked his pockets….checked he’s got the box!”  
“D’ya reckon he’s gone for a quick slash and a freshen up first?”

The small ding of a bell a few minutes later signified the arrival of the ordered dessert, but coincided with Strike’s reappearance at the main door.  
The open mouthed duo watched as he cleared his throat, rearranged his hair into a different, but slightly more tamed ‘style’ and strode across, batting a ceiling mounted dangling pair of furry lovebirds out of the way as he returned to Robin; her rose-gold hair acting like a lighthouse, beckoning to him….or just making her easy to spot in a crowd!  
Robin was just turning off her phone which slipped out of her hand, landing just beside one of her stilettoed feet.

“I’ll get it,” he announced and crouched down, his right leg slightly stuck out at an angle as he scooped up the phone and placed it in her waiting hand. 

From across at the waiter’s stand there was a brief squeal, a couple of High 5s and a ridiculously excited Scotty came across with their enormous sharing pudding.

Strike had managed to get himself sat and Robin was blushing slightly having inadvertently grazed her fingers against his when transferring the phone, and both looked a little flustered as their Islands hove into view, floating beautifully in the assorted ‘cream’.  
Both Robin and Strike noticed the even more demented behaviour of their waiter as he babbled something about, “Oh my God! I just knew it…..just so perfect……you’re so perfect together…..congratulations!”  
He gave a high pitched squeal and made a pair of jazz hands towards them both before retreating.

“Do you think that was part of the Valentine’s Day madness here?” Robin asked, noting that the varied and predicted sprinkles included love hearts, gold sugar strands and pink mini marshmallows.

Strike had already swiped his finger through a dollop of whipped cream and sucked it clean before answering, “Maybe it was a coded cry for help! What was he wittering on about anyway?” he delved his spoon into the chocolate brownie closest to him, discovering it was warm and heavenly as he rolled the gooey mixture around on his tongue, making an almost obscene growling sound from his chest.

Robin bit down slightly more savagely than intended on her strawberry but was soon mimicking his noises of delight as she too discovered the brownie, which was what could only be described as erotically good!

After several mouthfuls where their whimpers and groans appeared to be shamelessly peaking in intensity Strike froze, spoon sticking from his mouth and eyebrows suddenly threatening to blend in with his hairline.

“Bloody hell……I think they think I’ve proposed to you!” he stated as he glanced across again and saw Deely Bopper pointing at her own left hand and doing what he knew to be some dance about single ladies (from Ilsa and Robin’s curry night tipsy, and slightly sexy dancing in their socks in the Herbert’s kitchen!) 

Robin swallowed abruptly and followed Cormoran’s gaze.   
His comment instantly made sense when she saw Scotty giving them both ridiculous seal claps and fanning his face as he mouthed congratulations.  
Her thoughts flashed back to Cormoran appearing and bending down to retrieve her phone for her and she giggled at him as he continued to look somewhat shell shocked, before he met her eyes and started laughing with her.

“What are we gunna do?”

“What d’you mean? We’re eating our pudding, paying the bill and I’m driving us home!”

“Yeah but…..Itchy and Scratchy over there will probably…..say something….or expect some show….SHIT! they’re gonna think I’ve proposed without a sodding ring!”

Robin was now crying with laughter at Cormoran’s thought process.

“Cormoran, we will never see them again! Why on earth does it matter?”

He shrugged a little and affected his ‘told off school boy’ look, that always made Robin flutter a little somewhere in her groin, “It doesn’t matter…..but I feel like we’ve let them down!....and I don’t want them thinking I’m a cheapskate!”

“You silly bugger!....Right….you pay the bill then,” and she admitted defeat on her Island, leaving her spoon resting on the table with her napkin as she downed the last of her tonic water and picked up her bag and her rose.  
Strike looked down at the slurry of melted ice-cream and flecks of brownie crumbs infront of him and glimpsed the slightly worried expressions of the staff at Robin’s lone departure; however he sniggered as she turned to him from the door and gave him a cheeky wink and beckoned with an outstretched finger.

“Why the fuck are you so bloody good at your job?....you fucking enigma Ellacott,” he muttered as he downed the last inch of his slightly too warm beer and scooped up the scarf she had left beside her on the booth seat.  
Scott looked slightly more relieved when Strike made his way across holding the item.   
He settled the bill with his credit card and pulled a note from the £70 bundle as a tip.

“Thank you….it’s been…..memorable!” Strike stated.

He’d almost made it out before Deely Bopper accosted him and clasped his hand, “Oh…..it’s so romantic, and you’re clearly besotted with each other. Congratulations from all the staff here at The Swan on the Lake.” She pumped his hand excitedly several times as Strike allowed her comment to sink in.

What did she mean it was clear they were besotted with each other?

He’d tried to keep his unruly equilibrium in check…..granted it had got fairly tricky once she started licking chocolate sauce from her spoon and groaning…..but he’d resisted the urge to lean across and lick a stray bit of cream from her lip….he’d done OK….at least he thought he had!

He’d taken a stride towards the door before his thoughts opened out.

Hang on…..besotted with each other!

She was besotted with him?   
And it showed?

No!.....no, surely it was just Robin acting a part…..although to be fair there had been no need to….she wasn’t playing the part of Venetia Hawley now.  
On a whim he paused and indicated a display just infront of the doorway.

“She’d love these,” he said, giving what he hoped was a ‘get the middle aged woman’s knickers in a twist’ smoulder towards Deely Bopper.  
Apparently it was also a ‘get a young gay man’s knickers in a twist’ smoulder, because Scotty waved at him and enthusiastically told him to, “Take them….with our love!”

Robin had managed to calm her rapidly beating heart as she settled herself back in the driver’s seat of the car.   
The day had been great – working with Cormoran was certainly never dull, and the meal they’d shared had just been……well, perfect!  
She sighed deeply and clipped her seatbelt into place.

“He’s my friend and work colleague,” she said outloud, like a mantra, “The fact that he’s a sexy, gorgeous, funny…..OH My GOD!”

Her final statement coincided with Strike’s appearance on the car park; at least she assumed it was him buried somewhere beneath the massive display of balloons he was carrying.

He was grinning from ear to ear as he opened the back passenger door, “There’s a few more than I thought,” he stated, panting and swearing as he battled to fit about 40 balloons into what was clearly only a 32 balloon back seat!

Robin opened and closed her mouth like a fish, eventually managing to stammer, “But…..what?.....I mean…..why?”

He paused and gave her a suddenly tender and deeply serious look, “You said you liked balloons,” he said softly.

The slam of the back seat gave Robin a chance to emit a small whimper of happiness (NOT love! Just because it was Valentine’s Day….and he was perfect….and he’d got her balloons did NOT mean it was a noise of love!)

He slid into the car beside her, “Right….step on it Ellacott!”

“Where would Sir care to go to?” she asked jokily as she moved the car into drive and left the car park.

“Home,” he responded.

She gave him a slight flicker of side eyes and allowed her cheeks to dimple slightly as she nodded.  
“OK…home it is.”

An hour later Cormoran had fallen asleep, allowing Robin to look over at his soft, relaxed face resting on the window.  
He woke when he felt something loud jolt him awake, and he glanced around, trying to get his bearings.   
They were parked outside Robin’s flat.

He became aware of the door behind him opening and an odd, squeaky, bobbling sound, followed by a POP and a “Bugger!” in a familiar sounding Yorkshire lilt.  
Before he could open it himself his door swung open and Robin’s eyes met his; confident, clear with intent and filled with sensuality….seemingly for him!

She silenced his attempt at questions by shaking her head and tugging the strings of the enormous balloon display in her right hand.

“In fairness there was no way I’d get these home on the tube…..and you just said you wanted to go home…..I took an executive decision,” and she leaned down, tugged lightly on the neck of his shirt and kissed him.

Her lips were full, warm, delicious and were not holding back in their exploration of his which, after a brief false start, had responded to the amazing combination of pressure and sensory overload with gusto.

“Come on,” she quipped, “I’ve got at least £70 to earn off this fella called Cameron Fletcher.”

They’d both taken a couple of steps but Strike halted, grasping at Robin’s free hand and tugging her body towards him.  
“Nah, you don’t want to spend all night with him,” he smirked, dragging his lips and stubble seductively across her soft jaw and the neck she was extending to give him more access.

“What do you suggest then?”

He paused briefly, “Let me earn it instead,” and he hoisted her up in a manner reminiscent of their victory lap at the races….only with more balloons!

He had to put her down for her to get her keys, and she forced him to take charge of the balloons as they made their way up the flights of stairs to reach Robin’s flat, which even compared to Strike’s was tiny.  
He had a momentary, and for him almost unheard of, spark of shyness as she tossed her keys and bag down onto the small sofa.

“This……I mean…today…..tonight, all of this….” He stammered, but again it was Robin who took charge of her own happiness…..finally.  
She slid her hands up beneath the satin lining of his jacket and eased it from his shoulders, gripping her nails into his broad and wonderfully firm biceps.

“This….today…..tonight, all of this…..is perfect,” and when their lips connected for a second time there was no hesitation from Strike.   
They kissed exquisitely, lit only by the dim light from a streetlight outside in an almost practised display of searing, breath sucking and teasing tongue flicking kisses.  
Strike’s hands moved across the gentle curves of Robin’s body in a manner which bore no resemblance to Cameron Fletcher’s groping attentions. 

Robin was like liquid in his arms, melting against him, loving the feel of his strength combined with the mixture of soft whimpers and more animalistic growls as her tongue delved beside his, and when they finally made their way across to her bed he undressed her with such tender reverence that his needy, hissed “God, I want you so much,” almost made her cum.

He did make her cum….more explosively, inventively and thoroughly than she’d ever experienced in her life, and as he finally stared down at her, eye to eye in the soft light, and eased inside her, feeling her body instantly respond to his as they moved together, her leg wrapping around his hips, he did indeed feel like he was home.


End file.
